Saturday, January 28, 2006

Yeah, well, I did blow it off...

and I blew something else too. But more about that later.

Instead of going on the date with the throwback guy to the college days, I decided to guzzle three bottles of wine with my friend. Four hours later, we were DRUNK and decided to go out. We call her fiancee, who is on his way to hang out with a mutual friend, J.--in fact, the guy who now works for my old boss and was sort of my replacement. Well, I trained him all right.

We meet up at a bar on Avenue C. My friend is definitely bombed and I am feeling no pain. She starts talking about how perfect J. and I would be--right in front of him. He doesn't seem to mind. We continue to drink. I am at least two bottles of wine deep at this point in the night and REALLY not feeling any pain.

We go to another bar and meet up with my friend's financee. My friend is so fucked up she decides she needs a little coke to "set her straight." I decline because I am smart enough to know at my old age that coke on a random Wednesday night would send me careening into the weekend (and that would probably be the first time I would go to sleep, so...). I'm so mature. Anyway, my friend has her first day of graduate school at 9am the next day so her fiancee and I collectively decide that coke isn't the best call for the particular evening. I mean, for God's sake it's already 2am. Going home to bed is.

They leave but J. and I decide to have the proverbial "one more drink." He is annoyingly smart. I think he llikes to lord his intelligence over people. Luckily I happened to have read about whatever philosopher he is rambling about that very day so I can actually partake in the conversation, not that I have any sort of recolection about whether or not I made sense, Plus he is too short. But after another drink, this time Maker's Mark on the rocks, I am loving him, so I decide to kiss him right there at Doc Holliday's.

It's a great kiss, by far the best one I've had since breaking up with M. M. and I barely kissed anymore anyway. We pecked and smootched but making out like normal couples do hasn't happened in ages. I think we forgot how, which is obviously the sign of a relaitonship in severe distress.

J. invites me to his place and before I know it, we are hot and heavy on his couch. Unfortunately, I am wearing the ugliest grandma underwear I own, a ratty bra under my t-shirt, and haven't shaved my legs or bikini long since God knows when. He doesn't seem to mind. We stop short of having sex (I'm so mature!) because he doesn't have a condom, but we definitely get down with pretty much everything else and it's damn good. We both come a couple of times and get into his bed. I'm reluctant to sleep over since his breath doesn't draw me like M.'s does (it's a little musty to tell the truth: I am getting so into BREATH lately, what's up with me??). But admittedly, it's very very very nice to snuggle up with a guy who thinks I am hot and his cat and fall asleep. I woke up like two hours later at 8am, so freaking hungover I thought I would die. His apartment was about a thousand degrees and I remember that right before we got into bed, he said something about me telling him a secret and he would tell me one. That's a little wierd and movie-of-the-week-ish, but whatever.

And anyway, I already told him mine: that I had fucked my former (and his current) boss! M. would die if he knew that one!

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

should I blow off my date tonight?

I am going back and forth, back and forth. I am supposed to have drinks with a guy I went to college with who has always held a candle for me and now that M. and I are no longer, he wanted to take me out. I have vague, fond memories of him and wouldn't really mind having some free drinks. Literally when I agreed to go out with him, though, he texted me things like..."Wednesday is great, if I can wait that long" and "I am so excited!" I mean, come on. Even if that were the case, I would never in a million YEARS ever say that to anyone I wanted to see again!

Anyway, I need a new crop of men. Speaking of dating, though, I have been meeting various girls at events and stuff and making "girl dates." I mean, guys network all the time and go out for beers after work and such so I figured I'd make a concerted effort to meet girls, go out and build up more contacts...and pick up men. Midtown steakhouses, here we come!

Meanwhile, I called tonight's date and made some sort of feeble excuse why I "might" be busy and he told me he is happy to be "on call." Stay tuned for the sordid details....(yeah right).

Saturday, January 21, 2006

Seeing M. for the first time in almost four months

I was a nervous wreck. Of course he doesn't ask me out to dinner or anything, why would he? In fact, as is typical, he had plans with his friends or something so we saw each other for all of an hour or two. To be a little bit fair, he's moving so I guess he wants to say all of his goodbyes, but ultimately the point is that once again I get the short end of the stick in terms of his time, care, attention and money.

Anyway, he looked hot as shit. And his smell. I really couldn't resist burying myself in his neck when he hugged me hello, can you blame me? I am totally starved for physical affection. I am being stalked by a multitude of losers, all of whom have driven me to the point of pure hatred. I never thought I would sell out and want to go out for drinks at steakhouses in Midtown and become a dinner whore but it's time. I need a hot sugar daddy who will fuck the shit out of me. But he can't be old, ugh.

Anyway, so M. is hot and just as unchanged and unchangeable as before. Again in fairness, (why am I being such an apologist?!) I did break up with HIM. As he nicely reminded me, he misses me like crazy and never wanted to break up. I was the one who pulled the plug. Fine. So I start to cry intermittenly throughout the conversation, driving him crazy as usual. He tells me that he fucked that bartender he's dating. He tells me because of course I ask like the glutton for punishment that I am. Finally, he has to leave and I don't want him to so my tears become sobs. This was always a problem--him leaving--to go back home or to even go to the store. It must stem from my daddy issues, I don't know. Psychobabble!

Finally, he walks me home and we hug, and I am softening, loving him...and then he tries to crack my back which always drove me crazy and I am reminded all over again why I broke up with him. I extract myself and walk away without so much as a backward glance.

I should have stayed home! But I dried my eyes, put on some makeup, and go out, proceeding to get absolutely BOMBED. And then I call him, babbling and screaming incoherently. I wake up the next morning goddamn ridiculously anxious, not to mention ridiculously hungover. But I feel like the previous night was a catharsis. On the one hand, I actually do miss M. more than ever. But on the other hand, I feel like maybe I can move on now. And at least have sex with someone else!

Oh yeah, it's Saturday night and I'm home along. Again.

Monday, January 16, 2006

Ha, Ha, Ha

When I first met B., I might (must) have been hammered because I clearly had no idea of who I was going out with this past Friday night. I had some vague memory of a hottie with scruff and a knit cap...luckily I made him picK me up at my apartment, otherwise I would never in a gazillion years have recognized him in a crowded bar.

I thanked my lucky stars I wore my low flats. As it was, I was about six inches taller than him. If I'd have worn heels, well, I wouldn't exactly feel cute and teeny. Oh and nice Gap coat with the fur trim, B.

Things start innocuously enough. We exchange pleasantries on the short walk to the restaurant, and sit down at the bar to wait for our tables, still chatting about this and that. I feel comfortable and fine though of course at first glance know that this isn't exactly going to GO anywhere. Then there's even a point when we sit down and start eating that I think, this guy's not so bad. He's kind of...

Scratch that. Things take a precipitous drop when we're talking about our families and I start to explain that my mom's sister is mentally retarded (not a joke) and he actually laughs and talks in a retarded voice. WHAT THE FUCK?! He's not even some sort of hot prick who thinks he can get away with shit like that. It's all I can do to not reach across the table and tear his face off. I am not sure if he even gets the enormity of his mistake.

To think I had fantasized about fucking the shit out of this guy. What can I say, he had a sexy phone voice. Anyway, B. continues on: he's not close with his family because they're jealous he lives in NYC and makes more money than they do; he has an online dating profile that's really freakin wierd (sorry no details, I tuned out); he laughs maniacally at himself; he is a ten-minute miler; and on and on and on.

My eyes are fully glazing over and I am trying to think of how to extricate myself. No such luck. He guides my elbow in the opposite direction from my apartment, saying he needs to walk off the dinner. Damn, I'm his whore because he bought me a nice dinner! He coerces me into one more drink and I just laugh to myself. I mean, why take it seriously?

We sit down and by this point he himself is acting retarded. I think he is super bombed and I'm not even really buzzed. Shortly thereafter, he leans back in his barstool and studies me thoughtfully. 'I wonder what would happen if I kissed you right now' he says. I want to puke but instead pull the whole, "Oh I don't do that on the first date, I try to take things slow and delay gratification.' YEAH RIGHT! So he backpedals but then a couple of minutes later reaches over, take my face in his hands and kisses me. Luckily he doesn't really use his tongue so he can't taste the vomit that is in my mouth. I bite my lip to keep from bursting out laughing.

Luckily I had formulated some excuse in advance about having to get up early and plus he is wasted so we get up and leave. He walks me to my door and in front of the 30 or so people leans UP to kiss me.

I pull away, uncomfortable on so many levels. This is the zinger. He says, "Why are you so scared of me?"

I cannot even protest anymore. I just smirk at him. "One more," he says.

No freakin way!

Friday, January 13, 2006

Dating a Celebrity

Help, I don't know how.

So I met said TV celebrity at an event recently. He's older and quirky and we chatted for a while and definitely (I promise I am not living in a fantasy world, at least on this part) had a "connection." Chat a couple of more times during the event, then I have to leave to go on my date with C. Fuck fuck fuck!

Celeb doesn't ask me out when I briefly say goodbye to him and I decide I am NOT going to be a tool and slip him my card or something. Instead, I have thirty or so drinks with C., come home, and drunk-email the publicist for the event, who I had also chatted with at the party and exchanged cards with. I ask her between us girls if it would be a total stretch if I got in touch with the celebrity and asked him out for a drink.

Oh, by the way, one thing I forgot to say was that at one point after I finished talking to the celebrity, the publicist said, "Wow, he liiiikes you!"

Anyway, she wrote back the next day, and said she would absolutely look into it on the sly and said he told her he had fun chatting with me. Emails me later, said he was slammed with work and she was still waiting to hear back and would get in touch with me the minute she did.

That was about 24 hours ago and I am on freaking pins and needles waiting! The only solution to my recent money anxiety-induced insomnia has been to daydream about him and the life we might have together. Full discolsure, I matched our horoscopes online to determine our compatibility (we're good!). I am such a sick fuck! I would really like to know who I think I am that I think I actually have a chance with this dude, becase he is actually really fucking famous, albeit lower-key. Like, he doesn't employ his own publicist, just uses the one from his show.

I think in truth my chances are fifty-fifty. I mean, he has to admire my balls, right? If the position was reversed and some hot, non-famous guy asked me out with confidence, I would definitely say yes (is this wishful thinking??!!)

I know I'm smart but what if I choke when we're out. What would we talk about?!

Anais Nin said, "Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage." So I'm braking The Rules but how the hell else am I supposed to get his attention?

I am never in a million years going to be able to concentrate on my date with tonight's victim, B.

Finally a date with C.

C. has been the guy, of all of them, that I've really been looking forward to going out with recently. Hilarious, rich, smart as shit. Finally, after much talking, and wonderment on my part, for a full month, we go out for drinks. It wa fun, it really was. When I was briefly in a sorority in college, during rush we were told that saying a pledge was "nice" was code word for "she's a sweet, normal girl, but no fuckin way." Well, C. is nice. More than nice, he's great!

I think my problem is that I am a Pisces and waaaaaaaaay too intuitive. I'm very good in a relationship, and loving and all, but when I am dating or hanging out with people, it's all very cut-and-dried. My mom and sister say that with me, it's all or night, black or white. Within five minutes of talking at the bar, I could read C. like a book and already felt like I had the upper hand, which for me is the dating kiss of death. How am I supposed to fantasize about someone taking care of me like M. didn't when I am able to predetermine his insecurities?

Of course, that didn't stop me from making him walk me home, pulling him into my foyer and forcing him to make out for a few minutes. It was decent (a little bit too much but overall not bad at all) but nothing that turned me on. Otherwise, I would have dragged him upstairs in a heartbeat. I haven't gone this long without sex in my entire life! I think I might have scared C. a little, not that I really care.

That said, I will happily go out with him again. He lavishes attention on me and I think I am starved for it right now. No, that's not true, because if I reeked of desperation, I wouldn't be attracting this many guys!

I keep stewing over the dichotomy of my relationship with M. On the one hand, I was fundamentally unhappy in many ways--the lack of overt care and communication on his part did us in at the end, but really he just wasn't great at the day-to-day realities of life and love. Everything was ephemera: he saw things esoterically. He couldn't deal with working on the relationship. However, I have yet to meet someone whose chemistry I am so basically connected to like I am with M. In the last four months since the dissolution of our relationship I have met, talked to, dated, made out with a TON of guys but haven't found my basic chemical match. I guess this is normal but I have never experienced something like this before.

Saturday, January 07, 2006

Staying in, alone, on a Saturday night

Is there anything intrinsically wrong with staying in alone on a Saturday night? Luckily, I don't have a cat, or five.

I go out about five nights a week and have tons of friends so this is certainly not a pity-party, at least not entirely. I'm really trying to undertsand why staying home alone on this particular night feels like a failure or something. I guess the main reason is because it's the universal fun night, the night when all the investment bankers and lawyers and other corprate cogs throw down, blow some lines and head to Marquee (or at least try to!).

M. and I hardly used to have conventional Saturdays, given our geographical disparity. In fact, I was walking through the West Village today thinking to myself (or maybe telepathizing to him) about what a terrible boyfriend (though not by any means a terrible person) he really was. He never made nearly enough effort to see me, or when he did, he always had one of his loser friends tagging along.

I think two things are making me ponder my Saturday night pajamas positioning. One, I woke up at 3 a.m. last night at first to the sounds of my neighbors wailing along to their new karaoke machine. M. would have definitely been the one relegated to going over to tell them to shut the fuck up. Now I suffer in silence. The other thing bothering me was that I dreamt all night about my new discovery that M. is dating someone. I literally had near-nightmares about it. In reality I have no idea what the ho looks like but in my imagination and dreams, she's a tiny, submissive Asian. M. loves Asian porn. Oh, and I just remembered the third thing bothering me and that is that C., the guy who I fantasized about over Christmas, has as of yet not called me as scheduled upon his return from HIS vacation yesterday. Now, in a way, that turn of events is a blessing in disguise because I have picked at a volcanic zit on my face for the last two days and it's a gross crusty mess. Cheers to staying in on a Saturday.

Friday, January 06, 2006

Overlap

God I am such a train wreck. Long story short, I end up hanging out last week a few times with a guy who lives near M. (who lives outside of NYC with his parents at the moment) and comes into the city to stay with his brother sometime. He and M. go to the same freaking yoga class if you can believe it. I've known the guy, D., for a while and in fact used to have a crush on him when I was young because he was such a kick-ass basketball player. He's nothing to write home about but interested me more than any of the other suckers I've been dating recently. He's pretty hot actually.

In essence, D. tells me that M. is currently dating some chick who works at a restaurant where he hangs out. One of M.'s friends is dating D's ex-girlfriend. None of this makes me very happy. I furiously call M., demanding to know what was going on. Who do I think I am? I broke up with him for god's sake. Anyway, M. manages to get the whole story about where I heard all this out of me, and tells me that D. is a total wierdo freak who is stalking his ex-girlfriend.

Could this get more confusing? But after this conversation I did recall some comments D. has made over the last couple of weeks about the ex and the stalker thing kind of rang true, especially since he has been blowing me up about five times a day recently.

So I deleted his number (insurance against any drunk dialing regressions) and plan to never talk to him again. Another one bites the dust...

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

Holiday dalliances

I've been killing the holiday blues, as previously mentioned, with various holiday "dates." M. is in London living it up with some friends he's travelled with over the years, so in order to mitigate the loneliness I tend to feel in my minscule studio (especially when I can hear the sounds below from restaurants of people talking and laughing...God, what a drama queen I am) I go out as much as humanly possible. Lately I can only fall asleep with a buzz (or more), something which has me mildly concerned. M. has called me a couple of times, though, which is...nice? confusing? maddening? Don't know right now. Need some more wine to figure that one out.

At home for the holidays, I hooked up with my good friend's brother. He's funny and cute and a little older than me and I figured, why not? It all started as a bet with another friend of mine who wagered that he would NOT hook up with me because he has a girlfriend. Ha! is all I can say. Three hours and about thirty drinks later we find ourselves in a hotel room he had paid $89 for. We rolled around and fooled around and then....

His pants came off.

Now, he is a big guy: about 6'4", well-built, big hands, big feet, so I'm thinking the obvious. Once again, Ha! This time the joke was on me. His dick was the teeniest thing I have ever laid eyes (or mouth for that matter) on. I saw the blow job to fruition more out of fascination than anything. When it finally got "hard" it was barely any bigger than when we started. He was like a goddamn freak of nature!

That'll teach me to break my below-the-belt rule. I had originally instituted it because I missed the physical part of M.: sleeping next to him, his smell, his body, etc. I figured I could avoid any wierd emotional problems or anxiety by not letting guys sleep over or do anything more than some light petting (I fucking hate that term but I can't think of anything else to describe it right now). I haven't had sex since M. and I broke up in early October. Maybe I should have had the aforementioned guy stick around because it would probably save me a lot of pain when I finally remove my chastity belt.